


Where the Lines Meet

by FreshBrains



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hands, M/M, Past Torture, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re thinking,” Bucky says, voice betraying nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Lines Meet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigriswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/gifts).



> For the LJ comment_fic prompt: _Avengers movieverse, author’s choice, there are no fingerprints on the Winter Soldier’s flesh hand._

They both like nighttime best when the lights are out and the blinds are open to the city below them.  The apartment is the same size as Steve’s former one guarded by Agent Thirteen, but this one is six levels higher with a bigger bedroom window.  The city lights blink on and off constantly throughout the night, but they both can sleep through whatever is unimportant.

“You’re thinking,” Bucky says, voice betraying nothing.  He buries his face in the crook of Steve’s shoulder, eyes staring out into the night.

Steve sighs and rubs a hand over his face.  He usually sleeps well, but it’s the Friday after Bucky’s first day in the field, and Steve didn’t know how he’d survive every week knowing that Bucky was out there with the Avengers, out there fighting for them, _with_ them, and Steve was the one leading him.  It seemed like only days ago Bucky was holding a knife to his throat after a nightmare but it _wasn’t_ days ago, it was months ago, years ago, and neither of them are the same man they were when then.

“This is when you’d usually tell me to try to say what I feel,” Bucky says dryly, glancing up at Steve.

Steve looks down, meets his man’s gaze, and sees nothing but humor riding a wide edge of anxiety, like he’s worried he did something to upset Steve.  As if he ever really could.  “Just tired,” he says, and gently takes Bucky’s hand.  He fits his fingers in with Bucky’s and feels the smooth pads of skin on each fingertip where they took away his identity years ago.  Just skin, no ridges, no whorls, nothing that could tell them Bucky was Bucky, the _real_ Bucky.  But Steve knows.

“Then go to sleep,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s hand.  He presses him palm flat against Steve’s so the lines of their fates and lives meet, flush against each other’s, and Steve knows they would match up perfectly, even if palm reading is an old wives’ tale.  “Stop worrying about me.  I’m right where I belong.”

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s hair, can’t help it.  He gets overwhelmed with how much he loves him sometimes, like the only thing he can do is hold on tighter.  “How do you know that?”

Bucky chuffs out a laugh, eyes still glassy in the moonlight, glassy but completely at peace.  “Because I’m with you.”

Steve sleeps like a baby after that.


End file.
